Red Tape
Raelinn Oakenshade
Sudarolis, 2001
If you’ve never seen an elf fuck, you’re not missing much. The clerk at Red Tape grunted like a strangled squirrel, head thrown back, silver braid slapping Veda’s collarbone with each frantic thrust. Veda looked bored, one hand propping herself on the counter as his skinny ass pumped rhythmically between her spread thighs.
Her manic giggle echoed off the bare walls of the gutted Red Tape video store. She caught my eye and flicked her hand in a little gesture, that said “now, dumbass.” I nudged Zyra, who was already slithering through the shadowed aisle, her low-rise jeans barely clinging to her hips.
We’d been casing Red Tape for weeks, watching inventory dwindle as the Fae censors shut it down. “Too many dangerous ideas,” they’d said, as if watching a minotaur and a dryad fall in love over a shared garden plot would cause the collapse of civilization. But Veda had spotted the cute elven clerk still packing boxes through the window, and within thirty seconds she’d had her top off and was offering him a “proper farewell.” The poor bastard hadn’t stood a chance.
We wove through the rental bins that lined the faded carpet like a labyrinth, each box a time capsule of forbidden media. We spent our days at Nymph U learning how to take three different species at once, and they were worried about what we watched on television?
The first box I reached had been sealed with packing tape, and I winced as I worked my nails under the edge. The ripping sound seemed impossibly loud, but when I glanced back at the main floor, the elf was too busy burying himself in Veda’s cunt to notice anything else.
The first box was all trash—boring educational nature series. Which was a joke because nobody in Luxuria had the attention span for anything that didn’t involve at least one cumshot.
Zyra hissed in disappointment, then worked the next box open, rifling through the sleeves with ruthless speed.
“Where’s the good shit?” she mumbled.
Zyra’s fingers closed around a handful of DVDs and she scanned the covers, face contorting in disgust. “Ugh, romantic comedies,” she whispered, tossing a pastel-pink case over her shoulder.
It bounced off my knee and landed face-up: Sirendepity, with a smirking orc in a suit and a siren in a blue halter dress clinging to his arm. My pulse stuttered, and I quickly stuffed it under my shirt before Zyra could notice.
“Keep digging,” Zyra hissed, already elbow-deep in the next box. “There’s gotta be porn in here somewhere. Not this fake—” She held up a “Feelings First” double feature and mimed gagging, then buried it in the heap.
I pawed through the pile, hands shaking with a weird, electric excitement. I’d never stolen anything before. But this was different. This was real contraband. The covers all looked so… tame. A tiefling and a satyr sharing a milkshake. Two goblin girls in matching sweaters, holding hands. A unicorn shifter with his shirt unbuttoned, gazing longingly at a pixie.
Zyra’s head jerked up as the elf behind the counter let out a high, desperate moan. “Showtime,” she whispered. “He’s about to blow.”
We scrambled to our feet, arms loaded with forbidden media. Zyra shot me a look—run now or never—and we bolted for the exit, ducking behind a stack of old rental bins as the clerk’s orgasmic shriek ricocheted through the empty store.
The bell over the door jingled as we slipped out, and I caught a glimpse of the elf’s face as he realized what had happened. His eyes went wide, mouth still slack from afterglow, and he fumbled to yank his pants up as he shouted, “Hey! Stop! Fuck!”
Veda was already gone, her orange hair a comet trail as she zipped out the back.
We barreled down a side alley, the cobblestones uneven under our sandals, the sun hot on our necks. The clerk gave chase for about two seconds before realizing he was flashing a mob of tourists at the cafe across the square.
“Shit! Fuck!” The elf again, probably realizing he couldn’t chase us with his pants around his ankles. His frustration faded as I rounded a corner, ducking behind a fountain.
I collided with someone at full speed.
We went down in a tangle of limbs and scattered DVDs, and I found myself staring at Veda. Her grey skin was still flushed, her hair a wild mess.
“Watch where you’re going, orc-fucker,” she giggled, already scrambling to gather the dropped cases.
“You’re one to talk.” I snatched up Sirendepity before she could see it. “Did you at least enjoy yourself?”
“Three out of ten. Elves are too gentle.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Tragic.”
We had most of the DVDs gathered when Zyra doubled-back, panting and triumphant.
“Eros Nook,” Veda whispered, still grinning. “Giorgio will let us use the DVD player if we ask nicely.”
“Since when do you ask nicely for anything?” But I was already following them.
The village was busy tonight, as it always was. Nymphs wandered between the few shops, while tourists of every species prowled the cobblestone paths looking for entertainment or already entangled with partners.
All perfectly normal in Luxuria—my home for the last two years while I attended Nymph U.
Eros Nook occupied a cozy corner at the apex of Luxuria. The bookshop’s windows had grown dingy with lack of upkeep. The owner, Giorgio, was in his late sixties and could no longer keep up with the daily smudge prints that appeared on the glass.
We burst through the door in a tumble of giggles and stolen goods, and the unicorn shifter behind the counter barely glanced up from his phone conversation.
“—yes, Eryndor, I understand you want to visit, but your mother would never forgive me if—” Giorgio paused, eyebrows rising slightly as he took in our disheveled appearance. With silver-streaked hair and kind eyes, Giorgio had probably been handsome in his youth and had aged into something comfortable and warm.
“Look, I need to go. Some of the university girls are here, and they’ve got that look about them.” A pause. “You know the look. No! Not that, Eryndor!”
I heard tinny laughter from the other end of the line.
“Yes, yes. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you too. Bye.” He hung up and fixed us with a knowing stare. “Let me guess. You want the back room?”
“Please?” I clasped my hands together in exaggerated supplication. “We’re graduating in a week. Consider it a farewell gift?”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes dropped to the movies we’d not-so-subtly tried to hide behind our backs. “Those from Red Tape?”
Zyra and Veda exchanged guilty looks, but I held his gaze. Giorgio had always had a soft spot for me—probably because I actually talked to him about his great-nephew and remembered his birthday. He’d cornered me my first year questioning my lineage.
“The Fae are shutting it down,” I said quietly. “Replacing it with one of those tourist shops. All these movies were just going to be destroyed.”
Something flickered in Giorgio’s expression. Sadness, maybe. Or resignation. “I heard. The Toy Shop, they’re calling the new place. As if we needed another venue for visitors to purchase things to use on you girls.”
“So you’ll let us...?”
He waved a hand toward the back of the shop. “Go. Just clean up after yourselves and don’t leave any evidence. I don’t need the authority sniffing around my establishment.”
“You’re the best,” Veda squealed, already darting toward the stockroom door.
“I know,” Giorgio called after us. “And Raelinn?”
I paused, looking back.
“A week until graduation, hm?” His smile was gentle, maybe a little sad. “I hope you end up somewhere that treats you well.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. “Thanks, Giorgio.”
“Tell your great-nephew to study for his exams,” Zyra called over her shoulder.
Giorgio just waved us off and began shuffling around the store. Probably flipping the sign to “closed” to give us some privacy.
The stockroom was exactly as I remembered—dusty shelves lined with boxes of unsorted books, a sagging couch that had seen better days, and in the corner, a blocky television set with a brand new DVD player.
We dumped our hauls onto the floor and soon we had a proper pile to sort through.
“Finally,” Zyra breathed, holding up a case featuring a nymph on all fours with a satyr behind her. “This is what I’m talking about. ‘Breeding Ground 7: Satyr Sanctuary.’”
“Is that the one with the thing they do with their tongues?” Veda asked, already digging through her own haul.
“That’s Breeding Ground 5. This one is focused on group dynamics.” Zyra studied the back cover with scholarly intensity. “Apparently there’s a scene with twelve satyrs and one nymph that set some kind of record.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
I let them argue over the porn selection, my fingers finding Sirendepity in the mess. The orc on the cover stared up at me, his expression earnest in a way that orcs in real life never were. I’d been with plenty of orcs—tourists who came to Luxuria looking for easy fucks and found willing nymphs at every turn. They were rough. Demanding. They didn’t kneel.
They definitely didn’t bring flowers.
“Absolutely not.”
I looked up to find Zyra staring at the case in my hands, her expression somewhere between horror and amusement.
“Come on,” I said, clutching it tighter. “Just this once.”
“It’s a romantic comedy, Rae. About dating.” She said the word like it was a disease. “That’s pure fantasy garbage.”
“Please?” I held it up, letting the light catch the cover. “Look at him. Look at those arms.”
“I’m looking at a waste of our time.” But Zyra’s resolve was already weakening—she could never resist my begging. “Veda, tell her this is stupid.”
Veda glanced at the case and shrugged. “One romantic comedy won’t kill us. And then we watch the satyr thing.”
"And the minotaur one I found,” Zyra added quickly.
“Deal.”
The DVD player whirred to life, and I slid the disc in with something that felt embarrassingly close to reverence. We settled onto the sagging couch—Veda in the middle, Zyra and I pressed against her sides—and the movie began.
The first thing I noticed was the city. N’Yorc, according to the opening titles, which I vaguely remembered hearing about in some of our species studies classes. The orc capital. I’d always imagined it as brutal and industrial, all smoke and metal and violence, but the movie painted a different picture. Lights glittered against dark buildings. Snow fell softly onto crowded streets. And everywhere, people walked and talked and... just existed. Together.
“Where’s all the fucking?” Zyra asked, confused. “Look at all those females just walking around. Shouldn’t someone be mounting them?”
“Maybe it’s before the good parts,” Veda suggested, though she sounded uncertain.
But the “good parts” never came. Not the way we expected, anyway. The orc protagonist—Grumsh, his name was—met the siren in some kind of shop. They touched hands over a pair of gloves. They talked. And then...
“What’s a boyfriend?” I asked, frowning at the screen.
“Made up word,” Zyra said dismissively. “Like ‘wedding.’ It’s movie stuff.”
“What about ‘dating’? They keep saying they want to ‘date’ each other.”
“Sounds like a euphemism for fucking.”
But it wasn’t. The movie made that clear as it continued. Dating, apparently, involved going places together. Eating meals. Talking more. There was something called an “engagement,” which seemed to involve jewelry and promises. And through it all, the orc—this massive, powerful orc who could have simply taken what he wanted—kept asking. Kept trying to impress.
Veda and Zyra dissolved into giggles at the courtship scenes. “He brought her flowers,” Zyra wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Like she’s going to fuck him harder because of some dead plants.”
“And the kneeling! Did you see him kneel?” Veda clutched her sides. “Can you imagine? An orc, kneeling for a female?”
They laughed and laughed, finding the whole thing hilarious in its impossibility. Because it was impossible, wasn’t it? Males didn’t court. Males didn’t pursue. Males took what they wanted, and females—nymphs especially—existed to be taken. That was biology. That was the natural order.
But I couldn’t stop watching.
The orc on screen was searching for the siren, years after their first meeting. He was engaged to someone else—someone wealthy, someone appropriate—but he couldn’t forget her. Both of them were throwing away perfectly good arrangements because of some feeling they couldn’t explain.
It was absurd. Completely absurd.
So why did it set butterflies alight in my stomach?
“Rae’s making her orc face again,” Veda teased, nudging me with her elbow.
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are. You’re imagining yourself on that ice rink with some big green male, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t deny it. The final scene was playing—Grumsh and the siren, reunited on a frozen lake in some park, surrounded by swirling snow. He was holding her like she was precious. Like she mattered as more than just a body to breed.
“I can’t believe we’re only days away from the Assigning Ceremony,” Zyra sighed as the credits rolled. She stretched across the old couch, her grey limbs extending. “Still set on Elven breeding, Veda?”
Veda straightened with obvious pride. “Of course. Clean facilities, gentle treatment, and they let you keep your name.”
“Fancy.”
“What can I say? I have standards.” Veda turned to me, concern creeping into her expression. “I still don’t understand why you’re so set on orc facilities, Rae. They have some of the worst reputations.”
I shrugged, though my pulse quickened at the thought. “They’ve improved a lot recently. Better walking times, slightly improved meal quality, and the bedding arrangements are much nicer now.”
“Only because the Fae forced them to,” Zyra scoffed.
Veda nodded in agreement. “If they had their way, they’d still keep nymphs in breeding dens like the old days. Chained to the walls and everything.”
I couldn’t argue with that. The history of orc breeding was brutal. Orc breeding facilities had been notorious for their treatment of nymphs before the Fae reforms. Short chains, cramped cells, nymphs kept in near-constant states of pregnancy without respite. The reforms had changed things, theoretically, but reputations lingered.
“Orcs are more civilized now,” I insisted, and as I said it, I found myself remembering.
The orc tourist I’d taken my first week at Nymph U, in the alley behind The Nymph’s Embrace. He’d been massive, easily twice my size, and he hadn’t bothered with pleasantries. One moment I’d been walking, and the next I’d been pressed against the wall, his huge hands pinning my wrists over my head while he pushed into me with one brutal thrust. He’d fucked me like I was nothing—like I was a hole to be used, a thing to be claimed—and I’d come so hard I’d seen stars. And that had been the pivotal moment that put me on the path to orc breeding.
A delicious thrill ran through me at the memory. My friends had always been more discerning in their preferences. Zyra with her minotaurs, Veda with her elves. But I’d always been drawn to something darker. The roughness. The dominance. The complete, utter control that orcs exerted over their partners.
I loved being submissive. I loved being owned, even temporarily. And a breeding facility? That would be ownership forever.
“Well,” Zyra said, standing and brushing dust from her skirt, “I need to get fucked properly after sitting through that sappy nonsense. Coming, Veda?”
“Obviously.” Veda unfolded herself from the couch. “The Nymph’s Embrace should have fresh tourists by now. Rae?”
“I’ll catch up,” I said, reaching for the DVD player. “Someone has to put this away.”
They exchanged knowing glances but didn’t push. A moment later, the curtain swished closed behind them, and I was alone with the movie’s menu screen playing on a loop.
I picked up the case again, tracing my finger over the image of Grumsh. The siren he’d pursued across the city. The love he’d been willing to fight for.
A male trying to win a female’s affection, rather than simply claiming her.
It was fantasy. Obviously, it was fantasy. The whole concept of courtship, of pursuit, of romance—those were invented for entertainment, not reflections of reality. No male actually behaved that way. Especially not orcs.
And yet...
I was so absorbed in the image that I didn’t hear the curtain move behind me.
“Thought you might be interested in this.”
I spun around, heart hammering, to find Giorgio standing in the stockroom doorway. In his weathered hands, he held a book—a paperback, its cover featuring another impossibly romantic scene of an orc and a female embracing.
“What—”
“It’s a romance novel,” he explained gently, holding it out toward me. “Like the movie you just watched. Same kind of story—orcs, dating, all that nonsense.”
I hesitated for a moment before taking it. The book was heavier than I expected, worn at the edges from previous readers. “Where did you get this?”
“Doesn’t matter.” His kind eyes held mine with unexpected intensity. “What matters is that if anyone asks, you didn’t get it from me. Understand?”
I nodded slowly, pulling the book close.
“The Fae have their reasons for banning these stories,” Giorgio continued, quieter now. “But reasons aren’t always right. Sometimes a nymph deserves to know there are other ways of being.” He turned to leave, then paused at the curtain. “You remind me of someone I knew once. Long time ago.” A sad smile crossed his face. “She believed in possibilities too.”
And then he was gone, disappeared back into the front of the shop, leaving me alone with the book and the DVD and a head full of dangerous thoughts.
Maybe the fae were right.
